


Morning Glory

by MarieQuiteContrarie (SeaStar1330)



Series: Morning Glory [1]
Category: Anyelle - Fandom, Macelle - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anyelle, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Happy Ending, Humor, Macelle - Freeform, May Day Menagerie, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Romance, Storybrooke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaStar1330/pseuds/MarieQuiteContrarie
Summary: When Joseph, a former small-town priest turned soda fountain clerk, discovers his favorite customer and crush Belle French spending time with a handsome, mysterious stranger, he's convinced they’re a couple. But Belle's new boyfriend seems to care more about impressing her than making her happy. Will Joseph summon the courage and faith to confess his love?2018 TEA NOMINEE - BEST ANYELLE AND BEST MAY DAY MENAGERIE





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Of_Princes_and_Savages](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Princes_and_Savages/gifts).



> This is my May Day Menagerie story for Of-Princes-And-Savages, and my first ever attempt at writing Macelle. Princes, I hope you enjoy, sweetheart!
> 
> Many thanks to still-searching47, who has been an absolute lifesaver on this story from start to finish. I couldn't have done it without you!

_Give thanks for sorrow that teaches you pity; for pain that teaches you courage—and give exceeding thanks for the mystery which remains a mystery still—the veil that hides you from the infinite, which makes it possible for you to believe in what you cannot see. – Robert Nathan_

 

She’s running late today.

From his lookout on the endcap between aisles three and four, Joseph checks his watch and rises on tiptoe to scan the front of the drugstore. Fighting a wave of nausea, he sways a bit on his feet. He leans a hip against the shelves to steady himself, and presses his fingers over the bandage on his forehead until the dizzy spell passes.

This morning, on the ice-slicked streets right outside his apartment building, he fell off his bicycle and smacked his head on the pavement. Calling in sick, however, isn’t an option.

Bedelia Bluementhal, owner of Bluementhal's Drugstore and micromanager extraordinaire, will dock his pay if he doesn’t show. As it stands, he barely scratches enough together each month to pay the rent on his modest flat and keep himself stocked in the salty ramen noodles that are his lunchtime staple.

The Lord knows he needs the money, but Bedelia’s disapproving glares aren’t the only reason he’s never missed a Thursday shift at the drugstore since he moved to Storybrooke sixteen months ago.

Every Thursday afternoon, an hour before suppertime, when the sun hits the front window and bathes the soda fountain in sparkling light, librarian Belle French comes in for shopping and ice cream.

Belle. With her bright blue eyes, tumble of auburn curls, sweet temperament, and passion for the written word, she seems to carry the light of heaven itself. He is forty-one years old, and he’d spent nearly twenty years married to the church. He’d never even so much as looked at a woman before he’d met her, but he is utterly captivated.

For her, he wants to be a better man, a man of faith, and yet he is never more grateful to no longer have the pull of the cloth.

Almost as delightful as Belle’s vibrant, caring personality is her insatiable sweet tooth. From sundaes to sodas to milkshakes to egg creams, she’s sampled almost every frozen concoction on and off Bluementhal's soda fountain menu. Joseph loves dreaming up tempting new desserts for her to sample, and he prides himself on never serving her the same exact thing twice.

Although he’s a humble former priest with a weakness for whiskey, Belle opens her generous heart to everyone, and he is no exception. Anticipating her Thursday visits fills the void, giving purpose to his mundane routine.

Joseph darts anxious eyes toward the front door once more. He’s jittery, and part of him wishes he could slug one of the cheap bottles of wine Bedelia stocks at the opposite end of the drugstore. He closes his eyes to tamp down the craving, breathing deeply through his nose. He continues stocking the shelves, awaiting the moment Belle bursts through the door—a ray of sunshine carried on a blast of winter wind.

The glass front of the store is foggy and snow blows in drifts against the door and onto the windowsill, creating frosty patterns on the glass. As he waits, he marvels at how God makes each snowflake individual, a thing of beauty unique and rare and precious. He whispers a prayer over a carton of children’s Tylenol, beseeching the Almighty for patience and courage. He’s been acquainted with Belle for several months, but they aren’t exactly a couple.

Not yet, anyway.

A rush of guilt comes over him. It’s not that he isn’t content with their friendship, and in the secret recesses of his mind he’s come to think of these weekly meetings at the soda fountain as dates, but an unsettling in his spirit yearns for more. At the seminary, he’d been trained to dismiss his attraction to women, but Belle has awakened all the feelings and desires he’d ever ignored and some that he never knew existed.

They met at the store six months earlier, on a sticky August afternoon when she came into the store to escape the heat. She wandered to the soda fountain and asked him to make her his favorite treat, and a friendship was born.

Maybe today he will summon the courage to ask her out for coffee or even a meal. There’s no harm in at least pretending to be brave, is there?

She has no idea how deep his feelings run, and that knowledge keeps the truth locked deep within, where no one can see or laugh at his impossible fantasies. Joseph dreams of coming home each evening to her smile and kisses, of trading stories about their day, and raising a passel beautiful, perfect children with bright blue eyes and auburn curls.

He shakes his head at himself. Belle needs someone strong, handsome, and assertive. Not a short and slight drugstore clerk, with thin lips and a nose a bit too large for his face, who’s never stood up to another person a day in his life.

Yet he begs God to give him what he cannot have.

A gust of wind screams as it whooshes around the building, rattling the windows and doors. Belle never misses a Thursday visit, but the weather is growing fierce and the typically bustling streets are empty. Joseph taps his foot, adjusts his apron, and returns to restocking medicine. Back in October, Belle braved a hurricane to come to the store, so he’s still holding out hope she will show.

His eyes flicker to the soda fountain. Eager to man his favorite area in the store, he drops a carton of Advil with a thud and scuttles to the brightly lit counter that runs along the right wall.

The soda fountain—one of only a handful that still exist along the New England seaboard—is a happy post. There’s a comfort and security when he’s serving sweets to the townsfolk with the counter between them. It’s a built-in confessional of sorts. Even in the dead of winter, people slide up to the counter, doff their coats, and strip their gloves off, and while he scoops ice cream and mixes sodas, they share bits and pieces of their day, offer confidences, and even ask for advice on occasion. Since he left his post at Saint Katherine The Martyr in Middlesbrough and moved to Storybrooke, exchanging Sundays in the pulpit for sundaes at the drugstore, the soda fountain allows him to continue his ministry in a small way.

He’s never been the ambitious sort, but Mother had always encouraged him to move to America for a fresh start. After she and father died, he’d taken all the money from the sale of their flat and bought a plane ticket to the States. Since he disappointed them when he was dismissed from the priesthood, he could at least follow through on this, and grant his Mother this one small boon.

Here in his new home, only one person knows he used to be a priest, but the shame of failing his vocation follows him wherever he goes. The idea that Belle might learn his disgraceful secret haunts him day and night.

He shoves away the shame and whisks out a damp clean rag. As he polishes the already sparkling counter, he whistles, wondering if he should offer Belle tea or hot chocolate when she arrives, instead of the usual frozen fare.

He stops polishing.

There’s a blue feather laying in the center of the red tile counter top, soft and ethereal, like nothing he’s ever seen before. He lifts the feather and stares, turning it over in the light, then brushing his fingers over the silvery edges. _How strange._ All the birds have migrated south and he hasn’t heard a chirp in three months. Footfalls echo on the tile floor, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in expectation. With a wild glance around the store, he tucks the feather under a bottle of chocolate sauce.

The bell above the door tinkles, and Joseph snaps his eyes back to the front of the store. His shoulders sag in disappointment when he realizes it’s not Belle, then lift again in curiosity. The customer is a gentleman he hasn’t seen before. He’s a fine-featured specimen, tall and striking with his dark skin, soft brown eyes, close-cropped beard, and a generous mouth. Joseph doesn’t mean to stare, but Storybrooke sees so few strangers and he never forgets a new face.

Alternatively, perhaps it’s the fact that the man is wearing a thin raincoat in February that draws his attention. Joseph crosses his arms and shivers just looking at him, but the man’s skin almost glows with vitality, and he exudes a warmth and confidence that seem impervious to cold.

The stranger makes a beeline for the snack foods, and examines several packages of donuts, a bemused expression on his handsome, oval face. Impatient for Belle to arrive, Joseph looks toward the front of the store again. The gentleman keeps looking in the same direction, scanning the doorway.

With an elegant stride, the stranger approaches the counter and folds his long legs around a stool. On closer inspection, the coat he wears, though thin, is made of the finest material and his trousers carry the sheen of expensive fabric. Everything about him is smooth, well-groomed, and exacting. Joseph glances down at his apron, which is splattered with chocolate sauce and smudged with cardboard dust; there couldn’t be a more striking contrast.

Joseph clears his throat and offers a tentative smile. “May I help you?”

“No, thank you. I’m waiting for someone,” the man says, propping his elbows on the counter.

“Anyone in particular?” Distracted, Joseph taps the face of his watch. _Where could Belle be?_

The man’s smile is knowing. “Looks like you are as well.”

Joseph blushes and studies the counter, trying not to look at the front door.

The gentleman’s poise is unnerving, making Joseph want to duck behind the counter and hide. He longs for even a fraction of that confidence. There’s an air of certainty in his movements, and a hundred questions run through Joseph’s mind. _Where are you from? What’s your name? Do you have a place to stay? Why aren’t you wearing a winter coat?_ He settles on one. “What brings you to Bluementhal’s on such a cold night?”

There’s a lengthy pause and he bites his tongue as the stranger regards him in silence.

“Can I get you something after all? A soda, perhaps?” Some people couldn’t digest dairy, he’d heard. Maybe he was allergic.

Joseph looks toward the opposite wall of the store again, where the liquor is on display, gleaming bottles of liquid courage. His throat is dry and scratchy and he needs a drink. But he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in over six months. He swallows heavily; falling asleep in a pool of his own vomit or piss is no way to live.

He rubs his hands together, then cranes his neck to meet Bedelia’s cool, appraising gaze. The small, pinched redhead despises loiterers. This guy needs to order something, or Bedelia will take her annoyance out on him. Conversations that span longer than the length of time required to eat a sundae or drink a milkshake and pay the bill are frowned on, as is any activity that deters from fattening her bottom line.

He can hear her chiding him even now, her voice laced with disgust: “ _You’re not a priest anymore, Joseph.”_  When he was hired, he’d made the mistake of sharing the shame of his departure from the church, and now she relishes the opportunity to remind him of his failings.

The man smiles in Bedelia’s direction and she turns away.  _Oh, thank God._

 “Actually, yes,” the man says after a pause. “There is something.” He slides a credit card across the counter.

Joseph picks it up. It’s one of those ritzy platinum editions from an unfamiliar financial institution. The name on the card is Merlin Celestun. “Not from around here, eh?”

“Perceptive.” The man’s lips twitch and he smiles, displaying twin rows of gleaming white teeth.

Joseph fingers the edges of the heavy credit card. Its limit probably rivals the value of the real estate for all of Main Street. “Did you want to order something?”

“Persistent, too. At least when it comes to your job.” The stranger laughs.

Joseph eyes him askance. This fellow seems a little unstable, and he wonders if he should give Hopper, the resident psychiatrist, a call. However countless hours of hearing confessions have shaped him into a human lie detector, and he senses no irony in Merlin’s comment.

The stranger leans closer to Joseph, dropping his voice. “When the lady comes in today, and anytime she does, take care of whatever she orders with that.” He nods toward the card in Joseph’s hand.

Joseph’s answering smile is patient as he runs the card through the machine. Bluementhal’s is the only drugstore in their sleepy little town, and almost everyone wanders in at some point for medication, sundries, and groceries. “Who would you like us to apply this card to?”

Merlin looks surprised. “Why, Belle French, of course.” He winks, then rises to stand behind the bar stool.

The credit card clears and Joseph’s heart sinks. _How does Merlin know Belle?_ A hundred possibilities cross his mind, from adopted brother to family acquaintance to college boyfriend. Are Merlin and Belle friends, or worse— _lovers_?

He puts his hand to his forehead. It’s beginning to throb again, and the drugstore is spinning.

“Are you all right, Joe?”

Joseph sucks in a deep breath. He won’t disgrace himself by revealing his pitiful crush, not in the presence of this Adonis. He does have _some_ pride.

Despite his shaking legs, he straightens until his back is ramrod straight, holding tight to the edge of the counter. “What do you want with Belle? I mean, ah, how do you know each other?”

Merlin regards him for a long moment and then smiles. “I’m a great admirer of hers. You have a good evening, Joe. Be careful on the ice.”

Joseph’s narrows his eyes and his hand flies to his injured forehead. “How-how did you know my….?”

“Name tag.” He points a long, elegant finger at Joseph’s stained blue shirt and heads toward the door. He stops and spins around. “And Joe?”

He swallows. “Yes?”

“Don’t say anything to Belle about my visit today, all right?” His smile is lopsided and he waves a hand over the counter. “You know, what happens at the soda fountain…”

Joseph nods his understanding, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the cliché. He doesn’t know why he should be compelled to promise this man anything, but it’s become his rule to keep any secrets shared here in confidence—his soda fountain confessional. “Fine,” he murmurs, staring down at the counter.

“See you soon.”

“When will….” He looks up to find himself talking to no one. He sees the tails of Merlin’s jacket fly out in the wind. He’s already swept out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Jealousy, worry, and alarm mingle in a heady cocktail, and  Joseph is still cursing himself thirty minutes later while he’s stocking the cleaning supply aisle. The bell at the soda fountain counter dings, startling his frayed nerves, and he drops a case of glass cleaner on his foot, then bites down on his wrist to keep from howling.

Belle has arrived at last. Foot throbbing, he hobbles to the soda fountain to greet her.

“Evening, Joseph,” Belle says, beaming. A halo of thick, soft hair is tumbling around her shoulders and her cheeks are flushed apple red from the cold.

“Hello, Belle.” He ducks behind the counter. Unsettled by his earlier encounter with the stranger who called him Joe, it’s an effort to smile into the eyes of his favorite customer. All he can see in his mind’s eye is Merlin’s smug happiness when he prepaid for Belle’s ice cream from now until the Lord returns. On the rare occasion that he’s flush with cash, he likes to treat Belle, but now even that simple pleasure has been stripped away. “What’ll it be today? The usual?”

The brightness in her eyes dims, and he wonders if something troubles her. She settles onto a stool and runs her index finger down the paper menu, biting down on her lush lower lip as she scans the offerings. “Since we both know I don’t have a usual, what do you recommend?”

“I’m sorry. Been a bit of a rough day.” Ashamed of his thoughtlessness, he scratches at his forehead. He wants to question her about Merlin’s visit to the store earlier this evening, but he doesn’t know where to start. That and he’s promised not to say a word. _Bloody conscience._

“Joseph, you’re hurt.” Belle moves his hand away from his face to examine the bump on his head, her concerned eyes roaming over his forehead.

He shakes his head, suppressing a shiver of delight when she says his name, enjoying far too much the soft way it rolls off her tongue. “It’s just a little scratch. Nothing to be alarmed about.”

She frowns. “We should put some ice on it.”

“I’m ok,” he says again, longing to recapture their typical, easy banter. But his tongue feels twisted into knots. “What’s your pleasure today? Something with coconut? Peach parfait?” He pauses, then eyes a bunch of ripe bananas. “How about a banana split?”

“Mmmm, that sounds heavenly.” She puts her hand on his forearm and squeezes. “You always have the best ideas.”

Pleased by her praise, he chuckles, then sets to work. He carefully peels and halves a perfect yellow banana with a touch of green at the stem. He scoops mounds of homemade chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream into a serving dish, regarding Belle from beneath lowered lashes.

After topping the dish with whipped cream, he crowns the sundae with a handful of maraschino cherries. He peeks at the pharmacy counter to see if Bedelia is watching. He can hear her now, complaining about the cost per cherry. In defiance, he dumps another spoonful on top for good measure. The cherries are Belle’s favorite part of the dessert. He presents her sundae with a flourish and a smile.

“Thank you,” she says, her eyes lighting up when he sets the dish before her. “This looks delicious.”

_You look delicious,_ he wants to say as her beautiful mouth envelopes the spoon. Her eyes close and she moans in pleasure as she swallows the first bite, and his cheeks darken at the carnal direction of his thoughts. His mind drifts back to Merlin, and jealousy turns him greener than the vat of pistachio ice cream in the case. _Blessed Virgin, help me,_ he prays. _I don’t know how to act, or what to say. Give me the right words._

“Quite welcome.” He forces a smile. “How was your day?”

“All right. I got held up at the library when the system went down and needed a reboot; that’s why I was late tonight, but I did get a new shipment of mystery romance novels in.” Her face brightens, as it always does when she speaks of books. She really is the most adorable creature God ever put on this earth.

He picks up his rag and shines the counter again. “Belle, do you have family in town this week?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“No special reason.” He can rule out Merlin as a family member then.

He tries again. “Is anything new happening?”

She furrows her brow in thought. “Other than the library…no. Oh! There is something!”

“Yes?”

“Ruby and Archie had their baby! A little girl named Julia Jane. Six pounds, eleven ounces.”

“Oh. Well. Babies are a blessing, there’s no doubt.” He pinches his nose, disappointed yet relieved that she hasn’t mentioned the mysterious Merlin. _It’s because she doesn’t trust you, imbecile. She’s content to share town gossip, but she’s not about to tell you who she’s dating._

He keeps her talking between bites, directing the conversation into safer areas like the weather, her work, and the latest community happenings.

All too soon, she scrapes the bowl of ice cream clean and dabs her mouth with a paper napkin. Her lips look soft and he wishes he could do it for her.

“I can’t believe I ate the entire thing!” she exclaims.

“Ice cream isn’t really food. It just fills in all those empty little spaces.” He grins. She always eats the entire dessert, but she says that every week, and every week he offers the same reassurance.

Her cheeks turn a beguiling shade of pink.

“What’s going on over here?” Bedelia is standing behind Belle, her arms crossed over her chest. She peers into Belle’s empty bowl.

Joseph gulps. He’d been so preoccupied with flirting he’d forgotten all about keeping watch. “Miss French is enjoying some ice cream.”

“Looks to me like she’s finished eating and needs to be on her way.” Bedelia nudges Belle’s bowl in Joseph’s direction, and he whisks it away and places it in the sink at the back of the bar.

He turns around to face Bedelia once more. “Belle’s a paying customer,” he argues, “and a good one at that.”

“Joseph was just charming me with his wit,” Belle says sweetly. “In my experience, he’s the finest asset this store has to offer.”

“Mmmm, well, I didn’t ask you to fill out an online survey, did I Miss French?” Bedelia’s cold smile looks like it could freeze the ice cream. “And Joseph isn’t paid to entertain. He’s here to scoop things and stock shelves.”

Belle arches a brow. “People are an organization’s most valuable asset, Ms. Bluementhal. If I were you, I’d hold onto Joseph.”

“You’re not me, Miss French.”

“Praise Jesus,” Joseph mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” Her sharp eyes rake him over.

“I said this new praline jubilee that just came in from the creamery is quite nice,” he says over his shoulder. He gestures toward the blender. “Can I make you a milkshake, Ms. B?”

“Get back to work, Joseph,” she says, with a parting glare at Belle. “Aisle ten requires your attention. There’s a new shipment of kitty litter in.”

Joseph is blushing furiously when Bedelia stalks away, torn between embarrassment and delight at Belle’s staunch defense of him.

Her hand is clapped over her mouth in an effort not to laugh, and he gives her a wry smile.

She fishes a crisp ten dollar bill from her wallet and holds it out. “I hope I didn’t get you in trouble. Thank you for the banana split. It was delicious.”

“There’s no charge,” he says, shaking his head. “And don’t worry; I can handle that old battle axe.”

“Joseph, I’m not taking your money.” Her eyes flicker with something…is it pity?

The flavor of elation turns bitter in his mouth. _She doesn’t want anything from you, imbecile._

He thrusts his shoulders back. He may not be as rich as her boyfriend, Merlin, but he can afford a bloody dish of ice cream. He removes a creased and damp bill from his pocket and puts it in the cash register, slamming the drawer with finality. “It’s on the house. I insist.”

She reddens and drops her money into her purse. “I didn’t mean…thank you.”

_Perfect. Now he’s made them both feel awkward._

“See you next week?” he asks, wincing at the thread of desperation in his tone. He shouldn’t be letting Merlin get under his skin.

“Of course, yes.” She looks relieved. “Good night, Joseph.”

“Good night, Belle.”

He waits until she’s tucked her scarf around her neck and turned away, before sinking down on a low stool behind the bar. The movement sends a scrap of paper floating to the floor. He picks it up; it’s Merlin’s credit card receipt. Joseph crumples it in his fist and looks at the trash can. He hesitates, then shoves the slip of paper in his pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

All week long, Joseph keeps a wary eye out for Merlin, but sees no sign of him at the store or around town. He’d done his reconnaissance, too. Most newcomers to Storybrooke find their way to Granny’s Diner by following their noses to her excellent and affordable lasagna, but Mrs. Lucas hadn’t seen him, nor had her granddaughter, Ruby. And if Ruby hadn’t met him, he may as well not exist.

Maybe Merlin the Magnificent decided not to stick around Storybrooke after all. _Such a shame._

It’s Thursday—Belle Day—and he grins as he shines the chrome handles on the soda fountain until he can see his face, but the haughty expression reflected there gives him pause. He broke a confidence in spreading the word about Merlin, and now he’s puffed up with pride at his own cleverness. _Bless me Father, for I have sinned._ Ashamed of his attitude, he makes a solemn vow to treat Merlin with kindness if he ever sees him again.

Joseph darts an anxious glance at the little bouquet of flowers tucked behind the soda fountain that he bought at the grocery store on his break. Today when Belle comes in, he’s going to ask her out on a real date. He had enough guts to cross an ocean to find God’s purpose, to make a new life for himself after knowing nothing but the pulpit, so why can’t he ask a beautiful woman out for dinner?

“Joseph!” Bedelia’s shout rattles his eardrums. “We need you up front.”

He sighs, adds a bit more water to the vase holding Belle’s flowers, and follows orders. At least he’ll be the first to greet Belle when she comes in.

Two hours later, he’s still at the front of the store covering the checkout and Belle has yet to arrive. Joseph wraps up a roll of duct tape and a pack of bubblegum for David Nolan, suppressing a shudder. He doesn’t want to know what David’s weekend plans are. As he hands David his change, he spots Belle.

She’s sailing through the store in the direction of the soda fountain, with Merlin hot on her heels. His large hand hovers at the small of her back, guiding her to her favorite stool at the counter. There’s a bright orange flower tucked behind Belle’s ear. She takes off her coat, revealing a sunny yellow sleeveless dress, and smiles at Merlin.

Joseph drops David’s bag, and the duct tape falls out of the bag and rolls to the soda fountain, landing at Belle’s feet. His face flaming, Joseph walks to the counter to retrieve the roll of tape and ushers David to the door while Merlin and Belle look on.

“Hello, Joseph,” Belle says when he scurries behind the counter to take her order. There’s an undeniable sparkle in her eyes today and he knows it’s because of the handsome man lurking beside her.

“Merlin…” he grumbles under his breath. “What kind of a name is that, anyway?”

Merlin grins but says nothing, and Belle’s head snaps up.

“Sorry, did you say something, Joseph?” she asks.

“Uh, that’s a pretty flower you have there, Belle.” He’s not really a fan of flowers, save the scent of Belle’s perfume. Most of them make him sneeze, but her scent, reminiscent of bright, summery strawberries, tickles his senses just right.

“Thank you.” She blushes then leans forward as if sharing a confidence. “It’s from my secret admirer.”

“Is it now?” He cracks his knuckles and glares at Merlin, who is lounging on the stool next to Belle’s. There’s something off balance about this bloke. First he’s paying for dessert and now he’s buying flowers? Joseph’s bunch of posies looks positively drab next to the stunning—and huge—blossom adorning Belle’s hair.

“Yes,” she strokes a petal. “It’s gerbera daisy.”

“Your favorite?” He sneezes, then wipes his itching nose with a rag.

She hesitates. “No, but still lovely.”

Merlin nods his agreement but stays blessedly silent.

“What can I get you today, Belle?” Eager to change the subject, Joseph gestures toward the ice cream case.

“What does the chef recommend?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.

She’s flirtatious today, and Joseph shifts his gaze to Merlin, but he doesn’t seem perturbed. W _hy would he be? It’s not like you’re competition, imbecile._

He strokes his chin, considering. “Strawberry cheesecake shake? Pistachio with dark chocolate? Oh, how about something I invented with this morning: white chocolate ice cream, marshmallow sauce, and tons of whipped cream? I call it The Cloud.”

Merlin flashes his dimples. “She’ll have one of those, Joe.”

“Yes, the cloud sounds perfect,” Belle echoes, inclining her head toward Merlin. “Extra cherries?”

“As always,” Joseph manages through clenched teeth. He scoops ice cream from the case without making eye contact, then spins around and starts building the sundae, grateful for an excuse to turn his back. He slams glasses and heaves dirty utensils into the sink, the weight on his chest making it hard to breathe.

_First he pays the bill, then he buys her flowers, now he speaks for her, too? She can’t even choose her own ice cream? He frowns at his distorted image in the chrome. It doesn’t seem at all like Belle to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t allow her the freedom to think for herself._

When he delivers the sundae, Belle’s brow is furrowed. “Is everything all right, Joseph?”

“Splendid.”

“Oh. Because you seem a little…violent today. I thought you were going to choke that container of whipped cream to death. It’s not like you to be so...”

“Your ice cream is melting, Belle,” he snaps. Anything so she’ll start eating and stop noticing what a selfish bastard he is. As long as Belle didn’t have anyone in her life, he has been content, but with Merlin around, he’s increasingly unsettled. _Should have asked Belle out when you had the chance. This entire situation is his fault, a nightmare of his own making._

She reaches for the spoon and digs in. “This is wonderful,” she says, her mouth filled with ice cream. “Thank you.”

He wants to continue to ignore Merlin, but it’s the wrong thing to do. Every customer deserves the best service as well as kindness—it’s his personal motto. He raises an eyebrow in the other man’s direction, a silent request for his order.

“Nothing for me, thanks, Joe.” Merlin shakes his head. “I’ll try a bite of Belle’s, maybe.”

Joseph glares at him. He can’t stand the idea of the two of them trading bites and licking whipped cream off each other’s faces, like some perfect couple that stepped out of the glossy pages of one of the fashion magazines they keep near the checkout. If Belle offers Merlin a bite from her spoon, he won’t need a bender to vomit. Disgusted, he throws up his hands and slips out from behind the counter. “Please excuse me. I have work to do.”

Belle lays a small, cool hand on his arm. “But Joseph,” Belle says, “we always…”

Bedelia comes over the intercom and orders him to the front of the store again, and for once he’s grateful for his boss’s interference.

He gives Belle an apologetic look. He wants her to be happy, but does he have to stand by and witness it, too? “I know, but our regular cashier is out sick today. I have to man the front.”

“All right,” she concedes in a small voice. “See you around?”

He nods and rushes back to the cash register, where the queue is now ten customers deep, and beginning to curl around the toiletries aisle. Belle ducks her head, and from his vantage point, he sees Merlin offer a comforting pat on her back, then rub a lock of her shining auburn curls between his fingers.  _He’s never dared put his fingers in Belle’s hair._

Joseph tamps down a wave of despair, feeling stupid and misunderstood. He has no right to be jealous; he and Belle aren’t a couple.

Belle is the one who started seeing someone else, so why does he feel as though he’s wronged her?

  



	4. Chapter 4

Joseph manages to steer clear of Belle for a full two days, until he starts inventing excuses to see her before Thursday.

It’s become their pattern for him to wait for her to approach him, but Belle’s last visit to the soda fountain was strained and uncomfortable with Merlin present, and he has a rare Saturday off work. He’s never sought her out like this though, stalking her at her workplace like a lovesick puppy desperate for a scrap of attention.

The library is for everyone, he reasons. For months he’s been meaning to start a vegetable garden on the little patch of land behind his apartment building, giving him a ready answer for why he’s there. He reviews his plan as he turns onto Spring Street where the library sits. He can pick up a book on the Maine soil and find out what plants thrive in this climate and check on Belle at the same time. Making sure Merlin is treating her well is the least he can do as her friend.

He pauses inside the library vestibule to yank the tag off his new trousers and shove it into his pocket. He blew half a week’s pay on these and the new white button-down he bought at the posh men’s store around the corner. It’s going to be tough to make rent, but Belle always looks so lovely. He would be mortified to approach her in the dark blue uniform shirt and threadbare khakis he wears to work each day. 

Belle is standing at the reference desk, showing some books to a patron, and he ducks behind the stacks to watch her work. She throws her head back and laughs, the sound like the tinkling of chimes in a summer breeze, and he catches his breath.

Every person that approaches the desk is rewarded with a sunny smile and her full attention. Today she’s wearing a navy blue dress that make her eyes vivid and a red cardigan. He wishes he had the right to walk up to her, wrap an arm around her waist, and tell her how lovely she looks today.

He rubs the back of his aching neck and sighs. _You invite us to approach Your throne boldly, Lord. But what about women?_

Merlin is sitting in one of the reading nooks, his feet propped up on a table with his head bent over a book. Joseph shook his head. Doesn’t that tool have anywhere else to be? “Get a hobby,” he mutters under his breath, then regrets his surliness. _How is what you’re doing any different, imbecile, spying on Belle on your day off?_

“Joseph?” Belle makes her way across the library and he lunges for the first book he sees, lifting it like a shield. “Joseph, is that you?” Belle pries the book away from his face with gentle fingers.

“Belle. Hello. What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched.

“I work here,” she reminds him with a bright smile.

“Ah, so you do.”

“What brings you in today?” she asks.

“Gardening books,” he blurts. “I’ve a wee bit of land behind my apartment and thought it was time to start planting. This one has excellent advice on caring for, ah, bulbs.”

“In February?” Belle glances at the cover of his book, then meets his gaze, her irises dancing. He looks at the book, too. It’s the play _Cyrano de Bergerac._

He looks out into the snowy streets, wishing he could bury his head in one of the thick snowbanks that flank either side of the library. The ground is frozen solid and he sounds like a madman, babbling about gardening in the dead of winter. He shoots an accusing glance across the library, landing on Merlin. Since the evening Merlin flashed his credit card at the drugstore nine days ago, Joseph has told more fibs than he has in his entire lifetime. _Fibs, are they? A lie is still a lie, no matter how small, Mother always said._

“Never too early to start planning a garden,” he croaks.

“That’s true, but this isn’t the gardening section. Come on, let me show you.” Taking him by the hand, she leads him across the library to another cluster of lined shelves. “What are we planting? Zinnias? Peonies? Azalea?”

He clings to her hand, loving the way her fingers feel in his, warm and soft, yet confident. He opens his mouth to tell her his plans to plant celery, lettuce, and spinach. “Morning glories,” he says, surprising himself. _Where had that come from?_

Her eyes light up. “Heavenly blues are my favorite.” Still holding his hand, she stops and her eyes drift down his body, taking in his new ensemble. Nervous under her scrutiny, he fists his other hand at his side.

He stares back, drinking in her beauty while she looks her fill. There are three small holes in her sweater and the arms are a bit long. The way the sleeves cover her wrists makes Belle look small and more vulnerable than usual. His fingers itch to touch her, to find out if the worn material of the sweater is feels as cozy as it looks.

“You look handsome today,” she says. Her voice is low and throaty, like a caress, and his arms pebble with awareness.

“Thank-thank you,” he stammers, searching her guileless eyes. She worries her lower lip with her teeth until he realizes he’s rubbing her palm with his thumb in slow, unconscious circles. He jerks back, looking over her shoulder. Merlin is still in the same chair, reading.

“It’s good to see you,” Belle says, still beaming at him like he hung the moon. “It’s not even Thursday.”

The other man looks up and smiles, not bothering to approach them, and much as Joseph wants Belle to himself, Merlin’s blatant disinterest is a blast of cold wind in the face. _That’s how little of a threat you are_. Yet if Merlin is going to sit there unperturbed while another man flirts with his girl…a wicked voice inside Joseph invites him to press his advantage.

Belle’s sweet fragrance drifts towards him, a delicate, fresh perfume that turns his insides to jelly. “Are you wearing freesia?” he asks, seizing the uncharacteristic feeling of boldness.

She lifts the corner of her sweater and presses it to her nose. “Yes. This sweater was my mother’s and she always wore freesia. It’s so old that the smell is permanently woven into the fabric, so I keep it with me to remind me of her. Sometimes, when I’m especially lonely for her, I dab on a bit of the perfume, too.” A single tear leaks out of one glossy blue eye.

Joseph catches it with his thumb and presses the salty bit of liquid to his mouth, and Belle’s eyes follow the motion of his hand. About a month ago, Belle told him her mother died ten years ago of cancer, shortly after her nineteenth birthday. He smiles regretfully as he thinks of his own sweet mother, now singing in heaven with the angels. “Did you know that God keeps all our tears in a bottle?”

She sniffles. “Really?”

“Yes, my mum used to say that tears are memories that leak out and run down our faces. But God remembers all of our sorrow and every tear we shed. He never forgets even a single one.” He crosses himself and thanks God for his many mercies. “Every trial, every pain. Someday, it will all be wiped away and you’ll be reunited with your mother.”

“You know a lot about loss.”

Joseph colors. He’s speaking like a priest, and Belle eyes him with curiosity. “Both my parents died two years ago in a car crash. My mother always wanted me to move to America to work. Thought it would be good for me to have a fresh start. Land of opportunity and all that. When they died, I sold their flat and came here.”

 “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be focusing on my problems when you’ve experienced such a painful and recent loss.” She wipes her eyes again with the corner of the sweater.

“It helps to talk about it, to have someone listen. Talking to you is soothing. When I’m with you, I always feel calm.” She looks down at her clasped hands. “Like nothing bad can happen.”

Tears of disbelief fill his eyes. No one has ever told him that before, and yet he wonders why Belle shares her stories with him instead of her new boyfriend.

“Can I ask you something?” She tugs at the collar of the sweater and he nods. “I haven’t put any of my mom’s perfume on for a least two months. How did you detect…”

“I don’t have a face on this nose for nothing,” he says with a sheepish smile, hoping to make her laugh.

She does, and he can’t stop the grin that stretches across his face in response to her pleasure.

“I like your nose, Joseph. It’s strong. Besides, you know what _Cyrano de Bergerac_ says, right?” Belle wags a finger. “A large nose is the mark of a witty, courteous, affable, generous, and liberal man.”

“Really?” he asks. He’s never thought of his large nose as an asset before.

“It’s an interesting play,” she says, scanning the shelves. She begins to select books and stack them on a nearby table. “About a secret admirer, actually. An intelligent, charismatic man who falls in love with a beautiful, intelligent woman, but because of a minor flaw, he won’t confess his feelings. Instead, he hides behind who he really is, ashamed, afraid of acceptance. Certain there was no way he could be liked for himself, or found any way but wanting.”

“A secret admirer?” he asks, intrigued, thinking of Merlin’s gifts to Belle. “And does he learn his lesson?”

“Yes, he learns he’s wrong about the woman he cares for; that she’s not as shallow as he at first believes. She loves him for who he is, not for who he thinks he is. That’s the power of hope, you know? That someone can come along who wants you for you. But that’s not what I like best about the story.”

“What do you like best?” he breathes, hanging on every word.

“It doesn’t matter, in the end, if she loves him or not. Learning to love yourself is the greatest lesson.”

Joseph nods, considering. He doesn’t quite know how to process Belle’s words. He knows God loves him; he knows he’s called to love other people, but he’s always been lousy at it. It’s why he was a failure as a priest—his own weakness. Hard as he tried, he was never much help to people. If he’d been stronger, he would have resisted the whiskey and cared well for his flock.

She looks at her watch. “I’m getting ready to close the library and then I’m having a late lunch with a friend. You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

He almost says yes, until he hears a cough. Merlin has closed his book and is looking at Joseph with raised eyebrows. Joseph groans. He’d been having such a good time, he’d almost forgotten about the other man.

“That’s kind of you to offer, but I really need to go.” Joseph holds up one of several gardening books Belle selected while they were talking. “Reading to do.”

“But…”

“Belle?” A woman with curly red hair and horn-rimmed glasses peeks through the stacks. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but can you come to circulation?”

“I’ll be right there,” she says to the woman, then turns to him. “I have to get back to work,” she whispers, then leans up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. She balances one more book on top of the stack of gardening books and follows her colleague to the circulation desk.

It’s _Cyrano de Bergerac_ , the book he was hiding behind when she discovered him in the library.

He sinks into a chair and begins to read. When he next looks up, Belle and Merlin are both gone.


	5. Chapter 5

It’s been almost three weeks since Belle has visited the drugstore on his shift, and Joseph is a tangle of confusion and hurt feelings.

Belle has been dating Merlin for about a month, and the longer it lasts without her bringing it up, the worse he feels. It’s only Tuesday, and he’s already fretting that she’ll miss another Thursday visit.

He’s seen her out and about with Merlin—at the grocery store, on the street, at the diner, and even at the park. Last week, he’d even watched from behind a tree as they sat on a bench catching snow flurries on their tongues. Often they’re together in silence, yet there’s an unspoken bond between them that makes him too shy to approach. It’s almost as if Merlin is Belle’s shadow, reacting according to her needs. Is that what happens the longer couples are together?

Since his visit to the library, he’s replayed their conversation and kiss on the cheek over and over, trying to interpret Belle’s thoughts. Was it a simple gesture of friendship, or something more? Had he said or done something to keep her away? And if Belle is dating Merlin, why is she so attentive toward him? Not for the first time, he curses his lack of experience with women.

_Oh Lord, please, give me strength. I’m so confused. You know I care for Belle, that I want a family, but if you mean for me to serve you as a single man, I accept your will. Show me what to do._  

He leaves his future in God’s hands and then yanks it back as he always does. Fear is a powerful monster.

While he restocks the soda fountain with fresh cartons of ice cream and toppings, he makes a deal with himself and God: Belle can date anyone she wants, and do whatever she pleases, if she’ll just continue to be near him—to speak to him like he’s worth something. She’s the only one who does, the only person who _sees_ him, and he depends on her faith in him, selfish as it is. Even though he finds Belle’s view of him hard to believe, he can’t bring himself to disbelieve her, and he to see himself the way she does, to be worthy of her. It’s easier to think the worst of himself, though, especially when he recounts his many failures.

“It’s been a rotten week.” Belle moans and drops her purse on the counter, her voice thick with tears and her eyes pink. Merlin slides into the chair beside her, a frown on his face.

“Belle.” Joseph looks up in surprise, all his own pain forgotten at the expression of anguish on her face. “What happened?”

“Nobody notices what I do. Not at the library, not in the community…not even my friends appreciate me.” She wipes her eyes with a napkin. “I planned a fundraiser to add a Medieval collection to the library. I worked late every night for three weeks to pull the plans together for the town council meeting. Then I gave up my entire weekend to babysit Emma Nolan because Mary Margaret and David wanted an overnight away. And now I have a cold.”

_So that’s why Belle hasn’t been to see him_. Joseph nods in sympathy. So does Merlin.

“The town meeting was today at noon and my boss presented my entire plan for the fundraising as her idea. And Mary Margaret didn’t even thank me for watching Emma, even though she was up five or six times a night, asking when her momma would be home,” Belle complains.

Merlin clucks his tongue in disapproval.

Joseph crosses his arms over his chest, fury mounting by the moment. If Merlin wants to comfort Belle, he can do so on his own time. Belle is here to see _him_ , and he’s determined to be the one to lift her spirits.

“That’s not right.” Joseph is furious on her behalf. “They should at least say thank you.”

“Then today at the library, the copier broke down and I spent most of the afternoon trying to get it back online.” She shakes her head. “The rest of the staff was standing around trying to figure out what to do for hours.”

“Aren’t you the clever one?” Merlin asks, admiration reflected in his gaze.

“Glad someone notices what I do.” She rolls her eyes heavenward.

“I notice everything you do,” Merlin says in a silken tone.

“Blessed Virgin, do you never cease?” Joseph bites out.

Belle blanches, her face creased with sadness. She picks up her handbag, ready to flee.

“Belle! No! Sorry, I didn’t mean…oh God, I was listening to…” Frantic, he picks up the headset he’s supposed to wear for communicating with the other workers in the store, scrambling for an explanation that doesn’t include insulting her boyfriend. “Coworker in the pharmacy. He’s always whining.”

“Oh,” she mutters, setting her purse back down and propping her elbows on the table. “I misunderstood.”

Joseph sighs in relief; he hasn’t pushed her away. Merlin’s grin is wicked, the bastard. God help him, he knows hatred is a sin, but it takes all his self-control not to reach across the counter and choke Merlin with his own cashmere scarf.

“Belle, I’ll make you something special,” he decides, then opens a package of brownies baked fresh by Mrs. Lucas that morning. He scoops a rich mound of cookie dough ice cream from the case and balances it on top of the brownie, then adds caramel sauce, hot fudge, whipped cream, and chocolate sprinkles. 

“Chocolate, thank God.” Belle seizes the sundae and attacks it with a spoon before he even crowns it with a cherry.

“Are you sure you want it?” He chuckles as she devours the ice cream. “Take it easy or you’ll get brain freeze.”

“This is fantastic,” she moans around a mouthful. Her eyes are closed and she’s shoveling ice cream in as fast as she can swallow.

Merlin’s smile is indulgent. “Make her another, Joe. She’s had a difficult day.”

Joseph grinds his teeth at the order and the nickname, but complies. Anything to make Belle happy, even if Merlin is the mouthpiece. He slides the second sundae in front of her just as she finishes the first.

“Thank you.” She waves her spoon in the air, dimples flashing with pleasure. “You know what every woman needs even more than ice cream? A man who can read minds.”

Joseph wants to respond, but he’s been bested once again by Merlin, and what’s the point in trying when the deck is stacked against him? Swallowing his humiliation, he whips out his cloth and scrubs at an invisible stain on the sparkling counter.


	6. Chapter 6

Time ticks on and at last, the long cold snap breaks. Buds unfurl on the trees, and bits of green dot their small town landscape. The grey tone in the sky is gone, as though God has taken a giant eraser and rubbed out the stains, replacing the dullness with a glorious waves of indigo, making the word feel fresh and new. Spring is en route to Maine.

The warmer weather seems to agree with Belle; lately Joseph has noticed that her cheeks are flushed with color, her eyes are aglow with the light of one who holds a precious secret. He looks up when he hears the door open, and sees her enter the store. Today, Belle is carrying some books in a basket and his heart thrills that Merlin is nowhere in sight. How he misses having Belle all to himself! He hurries over to the soda fountain, his mind brimming with questions.  Perhaps they can discuss her books without interruption.

“You look happy today,” he says in greeting.

“I _am_ happy.” She hops up onto her usual stool with a smile. “There’s something about the miracle of spring that gets me every year. Rebirth, renewal, the earth reawakening after a long slumber.” Her eyes grow dreamier as she speaks.  “And, it’s finally starting to get warm enough outside that I have a _real_ excuse to eat ice cream.” 

“Music to my ears. What are you hungry for today?”

“Noodles. Cereal. Ice cream. I like all my foods in bowls,” she says.

He grins. “Me too.”

They laugh together, the crowns of their heads nearly touching over the counter, and Joseph’s heart is content.

“How about something with peanut butter?” she asks, covering her eyes with her hand. “Surprise me.”

“My pleasure.” He opens the freezer case. “You’ve unearthed more treasures for the library, I see,” he says as he scoops and pours and drizzles.

“Not me.” She shakes her head, and her auburn curls glisten in the light. “My admirer has been at it again. These are all first editions.” Belle traces her finger over an embossed leather cover, her voice rising with her excitement. He recognizes the book, then realizes it’s the one he saw Merlin reading in the library.

Joseph’s joy fades. Merlin again. _Of course._ Sadness closes in like the final curtain after a beautiful play as elation is replaced by reality. He’ll never be able to offer Belle all that she deserves.

“Oh really?” he chokes out.

“Mmmmhmmm…” She tilts her head and winks again.

Joseph startles at the knowing look in her eyes—Belle believes the basket of books is from him. He couldn’t afford such a grand selection in ten lifetimes, but he makes up his mind not to correct her. He won’t lie, exactly. He just won’t volunteer the truth.

_What’s the difference, Joseph?_ asks the still, small voice.

Bedelia calls him over the intercom and he groans. “I have to get back there or she’ll start reading the warning labels on all the prescriptions she’s filling out loud.”

“Oh dear. You’d better hurry.”

He rushes back to the pharmacy for the impromptu meeting. As Bedelia drones on about scheduling and inventory, he sneaks glances at Belle in the wide-angle mirror. She scribbles on a piece of paper, then she folds the paper into a square and leaves it on the counter. Joseph stares at the note, wondering about its contents. Belle slides it back and forth across the tile, as if weighing the merits of delivering it.

“Joseph.” Bedelia shakes her head.

“Sorry, what?” He snaps his gaze away from Belle in the mirror and looks back at his boss.

“If I were you, I’d spend more time focusing on my job than mooning over Miss French.” She taps a stack of papers on top of her desk.

“It’s a good thing you’re not me, then, isn’t it?” he retorts.

She narrows her eyes to tiny slits. “Careful, Joseph, or you’ll be looking for a new job. I can find plenty of people who know how to pull levers and sling ice cream. Besides, you wouldn’t want Miss French to know who you really are, would you? A middle-aged ex-priest _and_ a drunk, panting over a sweet young woman? What will people say?”

He presses his lips together; it’s Bedelia’s favorite threat—holding his former vocation over his head. God won’t forgive him and she won’t let him forget.

When he finally returns to the soda fountain, both Belle and the slip of paper she wrote on are gone. 

**xoxo**

Spring, it seemed, had decided to tease them. All too soon another cold front kills the early green buds, plunging Storybrooke back into the depths of winter. Thin sheets of ice crunch under Joseph’s feet as he steers his bicycle through the business district on Friday evening.

When darkness falls over town, he loves to look in the windows of the shops and restaurants; to glide through the streets at his leisure and bask in their emanating warm, cozy glow. He skids to a stop on the corner of Walnut and Pine, and squints into the front window of the new Asian Fusion restaurant. His stomach flip-flops; Belle and Merlin are sitting across from each other, bowlfuls of steaming noodles in front of them.

He moves closer, framing his hands around his face so he can see her better. Apparently he has no shame when it comes to Belle. His heart hurts like someone has reached into his chest and squeezed; Belle’s hands are covering her face and she’s crying.

The world quiets and stills as rage overwhelms him. Joseph fists his hands at his sides and tosses his bicycle onto the walk. He rushes into the restaurant like an angry bull, flinging the door open. Silence is no longer an option; he won’t stand by and watch Belle be treated so poorly.

Merlin is gone by the time Joseph arrives at the table. _Coward._

“Where is he?” he demands, scanning the restaurant. “Where?” The waitstaff and other diners have stopped to stare at him, but he’s too furious to be embarrassed.

Belle’s look is blank as the tears cascade down her cheeks. “What?”

“Merlin,” he grits out.

“Merlin?” She sounds incredulous, and his head starts to pound. Since Merlin came to town, Joseph has felt as though he’s been losing his mind, and now even Belle is looking at him like he’s escaped from a mental institution.

“I need to speak to him,” he says, giving the empty seat a scathing glare.

“Speak to who?”

“Merlin!” Joseph points at the dining chair, trembling. “He was sitting right there.”

Belle’s eyes are wide. “The chair is empty.”

“I said he _was_ there.” He runs his hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what’s happening. “Did he go to the men’s room?”

“Did who go to the men’s room?” she asks, her voice nasal and her eyes red and swollen.

“Merlin!”

“Who…who is Merlin? I’ve already told you that chair is empty.” She blows her nose. “It’s been empty all night. I was waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” he repeats in confusion.

Belle’s denials and questions pierce through the haze of rage. Something isn’t right. He stares at her. She’s looking at him like she’s never seen him before, and the coffee he drank before he left the store threatens to come up. No, something is horribly, horribly wrong. He grasps the back of the chair Merlin was sitting in for support as the restaurant begins to pitch and sway.

_Father God, give me strength._

He tightens his hands on the chair. “I’ve seen you with him, he’s been sniffing around you every bloody day. Buying you presents, taking you places, chatting with you.”

“Sniffing?” Her nostrils flare and she stands up, splaying her hand over her chest. “What am I, a dog?”

“Belle, no. No, that’s not what I meant. But you haven’t exactly been discouraging his attentions! This…this is insane.”  

Her eyes spark, a hot blue flame. “How dare you? I’ve been waiting for you! I thought you were…”

“What?”

She twists her fingers together. “I thought you were…”

“What, Belle? What did you think I was?” He’s shaking from head to toe now, begging for an explanation, unable to restrain his emotions now that he’s broken the dam.

“Different.” The word is a whisper. “I thought you cared for me. If you don’t care, all you have to do is say so. ‘I don’t care for you, Belle, and I don’t want to see you anymore.’ That’s all it would take.”

His mouth drops open in shock. How had he gotten it all so wrong? His head spins. Nothing makes sense, and he becomes aware that fifty pairs of eyes are pinned on him. He can’t do this, he doesn’t understand, he needs to get away.

“I’m sorry…I never meant…I’m so sorry.” Joseph rushes out of the restaurant and takes off down the street, running until his lungs feel like they’ll burst. He slows to a stop and braces his hands on his knees wheezing sharp shallow breaths. Only then does he realizes he’s crying.


	7. Chapter 7

“Gimme another.” Joseph pushes the empty tumbler back across the bar and drops his head onto the damp, cool wood. His eyelids are tacky, and his throat is dry no matter how much whiskey he pours down his gullet, but he has the bar all to himself. There’s no one to witness his shame. It had been eight months and five days since he’d last had a drink.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” the bartender asks in a deep, quiet voice.

Joseph squints in the dim light, but he can’t see the other man’s face.

“Another!” he roars, snapping his head up.

He’s not yet drunk enough to forget. He’s lost Belle for good, and nothing he can do or say will bring her back. Not that she’d ever been his to begin with. He just wishes he could piece together what had happened. He racks his brain for solutions, begging God for answers. At least if he knows where he went wrong, then there’s still hope to fix it. However, without knowledge there is no hope, and without hope, he has only whiskey.

The bartender peels back the hood of a sweatshirt and offers a jaunty wave.

Joseph scowls, wondering if his depressed thoughts had somehow summoned him. “Ugh. You again.”

“I’m flattered,” Merlin replies, then pulls out a white cloth and leans over the bar, buffing the walnut surface until it gleams.

“Don’t be.” Joseph bangs his glass on the table, pleased when liquid sloshes out and mars the perfect surface. “Stop it,” he says through gritted teeth.

“What, you think you’re the only one who can run a bar, Joe?” Merlin asks. “Wasn’t it you who advised me to find a hobby?”

He remembers now; his snide remark in the library. “How in the name of heaven did you know that?”

Merlin smirks. “Super hearing.”

“Funny.” He slams his open palm on the bar, relishing the sting. “Fill my glass.”

Merlin suspends the whiskey bottle over the tumbler with a disapproving frown.  “You shouldn’t drink, Joe. I thought you gave this up. It’s bad for your liver, you know. Not to mention the financial burden.”

Joseph downs the drink. “That’s perfect. Yeah, exactly what I need—health advice from a professional playboy.” He narrows his eyes when Merlin laughs. “Why are you here? What game are you playing? And how do you know about my…” He motions toward the bottle.

_How do you know I’m a no-account drunk who couldn’t hold a position in the church and moved to the other side of the world to escape my shame?_

Merlin crosses his arms. “So many questions. Why are _you_ here?”

Joseph’s eyes blur with tears, the words coming out on a choke: “Because I’m lost.”

“No, you’re not lost.” Merlin claps a hand on his shoulder, his fingers warm and sure. “God is still God, Joseph, and you’re going to be ok.”               

“What are you, a bloody psychiatrist?” A bitter laugh rattles his ribs.

Merlin shrugs. “Of sorts. I’m a lot like you, actually. My mission is helping people.”

Joseph snorts, he has nothing in common with Merlin. Merlin is perfect and he’s…he’s just Joseph. He looks away. “We’re nothing alike.”

“You haven’t failed God, Joe. You’re so much stronger than you believe.”

“Don’t call me Joe! Anyway, that’s not what I meant.” It’s exactly what he means; his failures threaten to choke him every day, but he won’t admit it. Not to _him_. He glares. “I could never treat Belle the way you have. You don’t toy with a woman like her. What you’ve done is…despicable and you’ve somehow made it my fault! It was like she didn’t know who you were, I…I don’t understand!” His voice drops to a miserable whisper. “Maybe it is my fault.”

Joseph slumps lower on the stool, despondent. What does it matter? He’d lost Belle, and _how_ won’t bring her back. Perhaps it was better this way, she wouldn’t have cared for him if she truly knew him, anyway. No woman, especially one as perfect as Belle, could ever love a failed ex-priest and a drunk.

Merlin shrugs again. “Someone needed to take action.”

Joseph stares at Merlin in disbelief. “By making her cry, breaking her heart?”

“Why do you care?” Merlin drums his fingers on the bar.

“Because…because I do!” He won’t give Merlin the satisfaction of knowing how he feels about Belle.

“You’re in love with her.”

“You know nothing,” Joseph spits. He pours himself another glass of whisky and gulps it down, then grabs for the bottle.

Merlin is faster. He wrenches it out of Joseph’s slippery fingers, then covers his hands with his, his grasp strong and pulsing with energy. “Tell Belle how you feel.”

“Why?” Joseph snatches his hands away and staggers to his feet. “So you can show her—again— that you’re the better man?”

“That’s not why I’m here.”

Joseph squares his shoulders and cracks his knuckles, then balls his hands into fists, like in the fight scenes he’s seen on television. He’s never hit another person in his life, but he wants to pound his fists into something hard, and Merlin’s arrogant jaw will do nicely.

Merlin takes a step back, hands splayed in a defensive pose. “You’ve got fire—good. But I don’t think I’m the one you’re angry with. No, the person you’re angry with is you. Do you think so little of yourself that it’s only when the woman you love is hurt that you take action?”

Joseph blinks at his clenched fist, considering. “Is—that’s why you did this? To make me jealous?”

“Is it working?”

When he looks back at Merlin, an ethereal swath of  turquoise and golden light surrounds him, his appearance resembling  the skies following a sun shower. The shadow of two colossal wings appears at his back, and a blue feather, identical to the one Joseph saw when Merlin first came into the drugstore, floats to the top of the bar.

“Oh, Jesus.” Joseph crosses himself, his teeth chattering in shock. “What…who are you?”

The aura around Merlin shimmers when he moves, and his smile is serene. “Don’t be afraid. I’m an angel.”

“An angel? Like from…” Joseph points at the ceiling, overbalances, and then slips on a patch of wet tile. The cold, sticky floor smells like beer and cigarette ash. He lurches to his knees, then falls down on his face once more.

Others have told him of their encounters with the divine, but he never believed that God would send a messenger his way. Angel visitations are the privilege of the faithful—Mary, Elijah, Abraham and Sarah—not him. His confusion over Merlin evaporates;  learning his true nature renders all questions unnecessary. It is not for the likes of him to question the wisdom, or the actions, of the divine.

Merlin squats down and grasps his elbows, hauling Joseph to his feet.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares,” Joseph murmurs, his eyes pinned on Merlin’s glowing face. “But why…why would he choose me?”

“God uses regular people to accomplish his purposes every day, Joe.” Again, Merlin seems to read his thoughts.

He covers his face and heaves a sob. “Not me, not after what I did. I’m too broken.”

“Not for God,” Merlin says. He wipes a tear from Joseph’s cheek with a long, tapered finger. “And not for Belle. She cares for you, as you care for her.”

 “But you…she….I tried!” He flails his arms, almost falling again. “She thinks I’m a bloody lunatic. I know divine appointments should be taken on faith but. ..she’ll never believe me now!”

Merlin is unfazed. “She’ll be at the store tomorrow, you can tell her everything.”

Joseph scratches his head; his brain fuzzy with drink. “Is tomorrow Thursday?”

“No, but she’ll be there.”

Dumbfounded, Joseph stares at him. “You see the future, too?”

“Bits and pieces, yeah.” Merlin puts an arm around Joseph, his wings caressing his cheek. “Go home, my friend, get some rest. Weeping endures for a night, but joy comes with the morning.”  



	8. Chapter 8

Jumbled images of Belle, Merlin, and aqua feathers overwhelm Joseph’s brain. He squats in the toiletries aisle, restocking shampoo, deodorant, and razors like a robot. Last night’s hallucinations had been unsettling; they always are when he’s been drinking. Still, he’s troubled by the vague sensation that something important is supposed to happen this morning. _If only he could remember what it is._

He’d awakened in his bed at dawn with no recollection of going home, a sharp headache and the copper tang of blood on his tongue, the imprint of his rosary beads on his fingers. He knew he’d gone to the bar but he remembered next to nothing of his bender, only vague, mixed-up impressions that made no sense.

At the stroke of seven, the bell over the door rings; the first customer of the day. To his surprise, it’s Belle. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her eyes red from crying. She picks up a shopping basket and marches by, pretending not to see him. Item after item comes flying off the shelves as she tosses it into her shopping basket.

_Memories flood his consciousness. The truth of last night triggered by Belle’s tears. His humiliation at the restaurant. Getting drunk. Talking to the bartender. The bartender…Merlin was the bartender. No, more than a bartender._

_Merlin is an angel._

Belle shoots Joseph a poisonous glare, and his heart withers like a rose in the desert. He deserves to be ignored after what he’s done, but he can’t resist monitoring her as she stomps around the store. Her posture is proud, but she can’t hide the deep hurt reflected in her eyes. Hurt he put there. Joseph wrings his hands; if he hadn’t been so afraid of rejection, then Merlin’s meddling might not have been necessary. It would be easy to blame Merlin for everything, but Joseph knows the truth: the only person at fault is him. If only he’d had faith, trusted in himself and in Belle, then Belle wouldn’t be crying.

“Could you help me out now, Merlin?” he pleads under his breath.

Belle stops in the snack aisle, reaching for a bag of pretzels on the top shelf. She huffs and strains, stands on tiptoe and even jumps, but she can’t reach. Joseph takes a deep breath, then steps beside her. It’s a stretch for him as well, but he plucks the bag off the shelf and hands it to her.

Tears stain her face and she glares at him once more. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

“I don’t need your help.” She chokes on a sob. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Sweetheart, please.” He pries the shopping basket from her hands and sets it on the floor.

Her eyes soften at the endearment, then she shakes her head wildly. “You stood me up.”

He presses his lips together, confused. Belle expected him at the restaurant last night, and he still doesn’t know why. It’s the one remaining mystery in this bizarre turn of events. “How about some ice cream?” he blurts, desperate to put her at ease.

She tilts her head. “It’s seven o’ clock in the morning.”

He eyes her shopping basket, which is overflowing with cookies, chocolate, chips, donuts, candy, and cheap wine. “Never too early for ice cream. Come on.”

She allows him to lead her to the soda fountain and sits, stone-faced, while he scoops blueberry cheesecake ice cream into a glass and covers it with blueberry syrup and fresh blueberries. Whipped cream and a crisp vanilla tuile cookie complete the sundae. “There you are, a Morning Glory.”

She hesitates, then picks up her spoon and takes a bite. “Good,” she admits, her lower lip trembling.

“I’m sorry about last night, Belle,” he says. He doesn’t know what made her think he was supposed to meet her, but he will gladly shoulder the blame in exchange for one of her smiles.

The anger in her eyes has cooled, replaced by a wary sympathy. “Joseph, if you’re seeing things, I’m sure Dr. Hopper can help.”

Joseph cringes. _Now she thinks he’s insane._ “Seeing things?” he croaks.

“Hallucinating.” She leans across the counter to whisper in his ear. “Last night, you were ranting about some Merlin person. I don’t know anyone named Merlin and neither does anyone else. I’ve asked around town.”

“Belle, I swear I’m not crazy. At least I don’t think so. Every time I saw you, he was there. Smiling, laughing, talking to you. In the store, at the library, on the sidewalk. Even at the restaurant last night.” A chill runs through him. “I thought you were in love with him, that he was your admirer, your boyfriend.”

Her eyes widen and she crosses her arms over her chest and shudders. “But I thought _you_ were my admirer. Weren’t you trying to keep your identity a secret? What about the flower, the books, paying my tab here at the store? I haven’t bought my own ice cream in almost two months.”

Joseph shakes his head, his lie of omission about the books coming home to roost. A wave of frustration and self-loathing courses through him. He would love to treat Belle like a queen, but he cannot afford to do so. Not today. Not ever.

“All Merlin.” He bites the inside of his cheek, debating. He wants to tell her that Merlin is an angel, and about their first encounter in the drugstore several weeks ago, but he’s afraid she’ll haul him to the hospital if he starts babbling about hooded figures with giant wings.

Better to start with something he knows is true, a confession long overdue. He’d hurt Belle with his fear of her reaction, and his past has haunted him for long enough. It is time he to tell her the truth.

He rounds the counter to take her hands. “There’s more. I have a confession. I’ve been lying to you about my past.” He toes at a scuff mark on the floor. “I didn’t decide to pack up and come to America because my parents died. I was looking for an excuse to run. You see, I was a priest before I was dismissed from the church. For my drinking, because I failed my flock, disgraced myself and my village. I’ve forsaken my calling and now I’m no good to anyone.”

“You’re good to me.” Belle’s eyes are fierce, her response immediate and without a moment’s hesitation. She squeezes his hands and when he dares to meet her gaze, fresh tears fill her eyes, making them sparkle like morning glories shining with dew.

“Oh, Belle…I don’t deserve…” His voice breaks when she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close.

She leans her cheek against his chest. “Joseph, if you had stayed a priest, if your parents hadn’t died, would you have moved here, to Storybrooke?”

He swallows, hard enough to hurt. “Probably not.”

“Would you have worked at a soda fountain, do you think?” she asks, stroking the hair curling at his nape.

“I never even know what a soda fountain was until I came to the United States,” he acknowledges, turning his face into her sweet-smelling hair.

She pulls back from their embrace and massages his shoulders. “But look at all the people you’ve helped by working here. All the smiles you’ve put on people’s faces with your kindness and generosity and faith. The way you encourage people to confide in you.”

He shrugs. “That doesn’t make a difference.”

“Yes, it does. To me and to so many others. Maybe you’re not a priest anymore because you were meant to have a different calling. Is it possible that all the pain and brokenness was for a reason? A road you needed to travel down to lead you here? To Storybrooke? To me?”

“That’s what I tried to tell him,” a voice says. “But you have such a way with words, Belle.” Merlin pulls back the hood of a long, silver robe and smiles. A set of enormous wings flutters at his back, creating a gentle, floral breeze. “Thought you could use a hand, Joe.”

Joseph jerks his head up; he hadn’t imagined last night. The bartender hadn’t been a drunken hallucination. He flushes with embarrassment, his faith has faltered yet again. Merlin gives him a knowing look and Joseph swallows, resolving to try harder in future.

_Merlin is real._

Belle’s brow furrows in uncertainty. “Sorry, do I know you?” She presses closer and turns to him. “Joseph?”

Joseph wraps a comforting arm around her waist, craving her support as much as she needs his.  “You really don’t know him?”

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she says, her gaze glued to Merlin’s face. “And I think I would remember a, well, he’s not exactly human, is he? What are you?”

 “Tell her, Joseph.” Merlin’s dark eyes glint with amusement.

“Me? Why?” He searches for an excuse. “You’re the messenger.”

“Be bold, my friend,” Merlin says. “Have courage.”

“Belle, this is Merlin.” He gestures toward him, feeling awkward. “He’s your guardian angel.”

“I have a guardian angel?” Belle asks. “Joseph, you haven’t been yourself in weeks. Is this why you’ve been acting so strange?” She glares at Merlin. “Why have you been upsetting my Joseph?” she demands.

_My Joseph._

His face is flaming. “He was trying to make me jealous. So I would tell you…” He blows out a breath. “Belle, I love you. I only stayed away from you because I thought you were dating someone else—Merlin.” He winces. “That’s not true. I was afraid to tell you how I felt, afraid you wouldn’t like who I truly am, a failed former priest and a drunk, someone who will never have the money to treat you as you deserve. But I should have fought for you. Please, give me another chance to be worthy of you.”  His speech done, he holds his breath and waits for her to berate him.

“Say it again,” she requests, wearing a smile as wide as the Atlantic Ocean.

“Give me another chance?” he repeats warily, still waiting for a rejection. It isn’t possible for Belle to feel the same way; she deserves so much better.

 She shakes her head, tears starting to fall once more. “No, the other thing.”

_Oh._ “Belle, I love you.” He cups her cheek with his palm, wiping away the wetness with gentle fingers.

“And I love you, too, Joseph. I’ve loved you for ages. You’ve made me so happy.” She laughs through her tears. “Look at me. What a mess I am. Seems like all I’ve done for the past few days is cry.”

He takes in her appearance; her grey sweatpants and tattered green sweater; the messy ponytail with auburn ringlets curling around her flushed cheeks.

“I am looking at you, and I don’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful,” he says reverently, his heart in his throat.

At last she’s in his arms, her mouth seeking his. She tastes of sweet cream and berries, sunshine and happiness and _home_. Belle breaks the kiss, resting her forehead against his, and praise God her breath as labored as his is. He nuzzles her neck with Merlin looking on, and he can’t find the will to be embarrassed or care. 

“I’ve been throwing myself at you for months, you idiot, hoping you would take the hint,” She gives him a playful nudge. “With all the ice cream I’ve eaten in the last six months, I’ve easily gained ten pounds. And in the middle of winter, no less.”

“I’m sorry Belle.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Belle says, her eyes filled with promise. “I can see I’ll have to be much more forward from now on, though.”

The sultry tone of her voice makes his stomach summersault and his ears burn at the tips.

“How does it feel to do the right thing, Joe?” Merlin asks. “Not just for someone else, but for yourself. To be honest about your feelings?”

“Good,” he says, cautiously. “But if that’s all you wanted, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Merlin raises a dark eyebrow. “Would you have believed me?”

Joseph blushes again, still uncertain.

This experience has bolstered his faith, not just in God but in himself, because his worst fears _hadn’t_ come true. Faith comes easily when there is proof that being faithful is rewarded. He grimaces, chiding himself, because faith is believing in the unseen and shouldn’t require proof. Still for the first time in ages, his self-recriminations lack bite. Joseph is a work in progress, but isn’t everyone? All those years of preaching grace and forgiveness, yet he had never applied the message to himself. Joseph sends Belle a look of gratitude; perhaps it is time to start.

“Probably not,” he admits, chagrined.

“And now you’ve discovered the truth on your own,” Merlin explains “Belle has always seen you for the kind, generous man you are. As someone who needs you as much as you need her. She didn’t even know I existed. My mission was to give you a gentle push; to help you take action. I came here to help you find your new purpose. A life with someone who loves you.”

Joseph stares at him in confusion. “What do you mean? Everywhere Belle went, you were there. I saw you. Since you showed up, I haven’t been able to get within five feet of her without you making me look like a first class arse.”

Merlin’s laughter is gentle. “Are you still so blind, my friend? Always seeing but never understanding? I was there because you were there.”

“Eh?” Joseph tugs his earlobe, feeling dense.

“You’re right that I am a guardian angel, Joseph, but I’m not Belle’s,” Merlin says. “I’m yours. Everything I’ve done has been to help you become the man you were meant to be. For as long as you live, I will always be here to guide you when you’re in need.”


	9. Chapter 9

**_EPILOGUE_ **

Belle swallows the last bite of her turkey club sandwich and taps the charred remnants of her dinner invitation. She jerks her head toward a booth across the diner, where Bedelia is picking at a salad and reading a book. “Are we going to confront her about this?”

Joseph drums his fingers on the table, considering the note. Before his departure a week earlier, Merlin had fished the ashes from Bedelia’s fireplace and reconstructed the note Belle had left on the soda fountain for him. An invitation to dinner.

_“Handle this as you see fit,” Merlin had said with a wink. “Consider it a wedding gift.”_

“Because I’d like to slap her for treating you this way.” Belle’s eyes spark with anger and she cracks her knuckles. “There are other places you can work that would give you the respect and kindness you deserve.”

Joseph knows that look; his Belle is ready to do battle.

“I’ll go over there, if you want me to,” she continues. “That library book she’s pretending to read has been overdue for three months. She claimed she lost it!”

“Now for that she should be arrested,” he quips, grinning when Belle giggles.

“Sweetheart, I love you, and I love that you want to fight for me.” He leans across the table to kiss her on the cheek. Now that he’s said the words, it’s easier every day to tell her what she means to him.

Her gaze softens and she scoots around the table to sit on the banquette beside him. She lays her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. “I love you, too.”

They sit shoulder-to-shoulder, sipping coffee and teasing each other, until two police officers enter the diner and make their way to Bedelia’s table. One of them is tall and dark and looks suspiciously like a certain angel they’ve become acquainted with. Silence falls over the full restaurant as Bedelia is handcuffed  and hauled away.  
  
xoxo

Three months later, Joseph and Belle married in a small ceremony. Soon after the wedding, Belle was promoted to head librarian at Storybrooke Public Library.

Following her arrest, Bedelia Bluementhal was charged with accepting kickbacks from drug companies and selling drugs to children and sent to maximum security prison for her crimes. She was never seen or heard from again.

Joseph and Belle lived a long, happy life together with their four children; two daughters and two adopted sons. The bank foreclosed on the drugstore and it went to auction, where Joseph and Belle bought it and changed the name to Storybrooke Soda and Sundries. Celebrated for its unique soda fountain, the store became a tourist destination for families all over New England.

**THE END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! It was a pleasure to write this story! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I would love your thoughts and comments. As I said, this is my first try at Macelle.


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